So I started going to aerobics last week.
Because I’m finally ready to stop wearing maternity clothes.
Magoo just turned 7.
That’s years, not months.
I dusted off my leotard and leg warmers and headed off
For those of you keeping track…yes, this counts as my annual’ THIS IS IS’ exercising fad.
I’m sure I’ll be back to my trackies and wine coolers in no time. Bear with me.
First day I walk into class, and I am surrounded by old women.
Like 60 to 70 years, old. Apparently the theme was ‘On Golden Pond’ and not Zanadu but fuck it, thong leotards are totally the shit if you wear ’em right, and I WAS. Rocking my Cyndi Lauper does Biggest Loser look, I marched in determined to kick their nappy wearing, droopy butts.
Of course the total opposite happened
I go OWNED by 20+ pensioners. I was purple faced and sweating like Gina Rinehart at a buffet table, while the denture wearing brigade were not even puffing.
So I went back again Tuesday
I went back again Wednesday, Thursday, Friday…
I went yesterday and accidentally walked into a class with cute, skinny young chicks doing Zumba…about face. As if.
And I went today.
Am I enjoying it?
No, I am fucking not.
But I guess that’s not the point.
If I wanted to be somewhere enjoyable, there would at least be a bar there.
With half naked, hairy chested waiters.
The plus side of all this public sweating and humiliation is, I’ve made a new best friend.
Her name is Glenda. She’s 70 and thinks my Austrian accent is adorable. She’s also probably deaf.
I have learnt that old ladies like to do lots of pelvic floor exercises. They tell me it’s important to work out their ‘sexual stations’.
Don’t think about that too much.
I’ve learnt that when the lady in the short shorts in front of you starts doing leg raises, DO NOT look. Some old ladies go commando. And vaginas don’t age well.
I happily learnt that on Fridays after class, they go straight to the pub.
I learnt that no one likes the instructor, Wendy. Glenda says that she acts like her ‘Aunt Flo’ is always visiting. Ethel told me it means Wendy’s a bitch.
I’ve learnt that if they like you, they’ll invite you to their book club, where this month they’re reading the ’50 Shades’ trilogy. Everyone brings a plate. They asked me to bring my guitar. So you know, I’m totally going to sing THIS for them.
And even though spending time with the fossils won’t cure my fear of watching old people eat (and now you can add a fear of their vaginas to the list) they’re kinda awesome, and not judgey at all. They’re welcoming and lovely. It’s like I scored 20 new Nannas.
I like that when I’m with them, I laugh my arse off.
And I love that I have the perkiest set of tits in the room.
But the most important lesson I learnt (twice) this last week is, when you’re in a class with old ladies doing sit ups and someone next to you farts, and it smells like shit…
It probably is.
PPS – for those of you after my diet and exercising secrets, on how you too can GAIN 6 MOTHERFUCKING POUNDS while working your box off….feel free to leave a comment and I’ll get back to you.